The Notebook
by TheGrandTour
Summary: This is the sequel of "This time". This is a Harry and Ruth story of course and a bit of angst too.
1. Chapter 1

**The Notebook **

_**This fic is the requested sequel to my other fic, "**__**This time". If you have not read the first one, some of this fic might not make sense :)**_

_**The Prologue is a bit short, so be patient, the story really begins with chapter 1 **__****_

_**For Peter F. and Nicola W.: talented actors and creators of the Harry and Ruth story. **_

_**What would we do without them?**_

_**Thanks hon, for your beta**_

_**Disclaimer: All characters in this work of fan fiction are owned by Kudos and BBC**_

**PROLOGUE**

_It was a__leather-bound notebook. Similar to the one Clive Mc Taggart had used. Classic, in black, with no figures on it, and no name. Just a little book with which to share your feelings, your fears, your sorrows, your hopes… your life. _

_She had bought it on impulse in Paris, one week after she had left Ruth Evershed's life. She was still not used to being called Miss Rose Emmington over and over again, and needed a place where she could be Ruth Evershed...a place where she could tell the truth... a place where she could be in love._

_She had bought a Mont-Blanc fountain pen to write in the notebook. It didn't make sense, but she had felt that the black notebook and the black pen, with black ink, would be a perfect reflection of how she felt: grieving._

_She went back to her hotel room. Her loneliness threatened to overwhelm her, but instead of throwing herself in the Seine, she chose to open her notebook and began to write:_

**Paris, 17****th**** August 2006**

I have left my life for you. I've left every _part_ of my life for you: my country, my work, my friends, my family, my cats, my books… and I've left you. Now I am asking myself _why should I go on?_

Who am I today? I have fled from my homeland and I am just a lost, lonely and terrified woman without any friends, without anyone to take care of me, to love me. Of course, I am pretending: I am smiling to the cashier at the supermarket and I am joking with the clerk at the hotel. I have even found a job very easily, but my heart is empty. Is there any sense in living this new life I am supposed to live? It would be so easy to fall asleep and never wake up.

I am not going to take the pills that are on my bedside though. I will not give up hope. What is still linking me to life is my need to talk to you. I need to see your face smiling at me. I need to feel your lips on mine.

If I believed in God, I would have something to cling to; everything would make sense. Nevertheless, I don't believe. So all I can do is hope that somewhere, someday, there will be a place and time for us to be together.

If one day Fate is kind enough to reunite us, I know you are going to ask me about my life on exile. So, I am going to keep a record of what is going to be my life without you. This notebook will be my memory, and a chance to share this part of my life with you.

_This is how is had begun__. At first, she had written to him repeating over and over again her loneliness and how she missed him. But after a few months, the notebook had become more a travel journal, where, day by day, she wrote about what she had done: the places she had seen, the people she had met, what she had heard and felt. For the last two years, the notebook had been her only bond to her old life, and she had written in it for him._

_The small__, leather-bound notebook never left Ruth's side, and over the last months, it had become her closest friend._

&

_**London, Saint Thomas hospital, 16**__**th**__** July 2008**_

_The team was gathered in the corridor outside the operating theatre, waiting for the news. Five spooks silently s__itting or pacing, asking themselves how it could have happened. They had thought that Harry was indestructible. He was the still point in their turning world. Yet, he had been shot, and this time he had no bulletproof jacket._

_For Connie, Malcolm and Adam, it was their friend who was struggling for life. For Jo and Ben, it was their boss that the surgeons were trying to keep alive...a man they respected above all others._

_They had waited for hours before a surgeon finally came out to speak to them._

_"He's alive. We thought we had lost him twice, but he's a fighter! The bullet was very close to the heart and I am afraid it has done a lot of damage. For the time being, we are keeping him in a comatose state... his body needs time to heal after such a trauma."_

_After giving his update to the team, __the surgeon discretely asked to speak with Adam more privately. He explained to him that Harry's injuries were serious, and that they did not know how he would react in the next few hours. _

_As __Adam had arrived at the hospital, he had told the doctor that Harry was a senior Secret Service man and needed special care, including a private room with a guard in front of the door. The surgeon now confirmed that Harry had been transferred to a private Intensive Care Unit room. _

_The surgeon __hesitated for a moment, clearly trying to choose his following words carefully. "I know that, given his position in life, I shouldn't ask much about Mr Pearce's personal circumstances, but I also know that people in comas have more chance of recovery, and recover more quickly, if they have the ones they love at their bedside. I would like you to contact his next of kin as soon as possible. It would help to have someone he cares about by his side."_

_Adam nodded solemnly. He knew that there was only one person for whom Harry would fight for...only one person he cared about so deeply that he was likely to wake up. The one person who had sacrificed her life for him. He thanked the surgeon and went to speak to Malcolm._

_**Thank you for reading this. If you feel like you want to leave me **__**a message, please take a minute to write a review?**_

_**Next chapter soon.**_


	2. Chapter 2

The Notebook

**THE NOTEBOOK**

_**This may be eerily similar to something else being posted soon, but I can assure you it is accidental and coincidental and the author**__**s are aware of it.**_

_**Many thanks to my beta reader**_

_**Disclaimer: All characters in this work of fan fiction are owned by Kudos and BBC**_

**CHAPTER 1**

**THE ARRIVAL**

**The sky over the Alps****, 17****th**** July 2008, 00.30am**

I told you not to get shot! What happened?

I can't stand being in this plane, stuck in this seat without knowing if you're still alive.

I thought that I knew what fear looks like… I was so terrified when I jumped on that barge a long time ago. But even after weeks and months of loneliness and worry, I couldn't be prepared for this feeling that makes my heart beat so fast, my hands sweat, and my entire body shudder. I've never felt such fear as this before.

I'm so terribly scared. What if...? What if I arrive too late? What if I have no chance to tell you how much I love you, to tell you that my life without you has no sense? What if I never see you again?

When I began to write to you, I wanted to let you know what my life was without you in it. Sometimes I told you my doubts. Will my love for you survive our enforced separation? Will you still have something wonderful to tell me, if and when we meet again?

At this moment, in the sky over the Alps, I know without hesitation that all my doubts about my love for you are gone. I know for certain that my love for you is intact. Oh please, fight! Stay alive for me...please!?

There are too many tears in my eyes now. I can't see what I'm writing anymore.

I don't now how to pray, but please God, let him live!

**St**** Thomas hospital, London, 17****th**** July 2008, 11pm**

You were shot yesterday morning at 10am, and I have been sitting by your side for almost 24 hours now, but it seems to me that I have been here for days. You're still in a coma, but you're alive. Your eyes are still closed, but at least you're going to live; it's the only thing that really matters.

I was so happy to see Malcolm waiting for me at Heathrow, telling me you were still alive. I felt such relief that I could have fainted in his arms. After he told me about your new Intelligence Analyst, Connie, he told me that she had managed to arrange free access for me at the hospital. For a few seconds, I felt something like a pang of jealousy, but I met Connie shortly after, and I have seen the concern for you in her eyes. I understand that she was just helping a close friend, and I realise now how stupid I was to think there was more to your relationship with her.

We met Connie at the entrance of the hospital: she was waiting for us. She briefly told me that she managed to clear my name by some _deal_ with the Home Secretary. She said something obscure about a memory stick and added in a very casual tone that she had to _improvise_ because everything had to be worked out so quickly. She has not had enough time to complete the resurrection of Ruth Evershed, so, in the urgency of the moment, and giving the fact that I was supposed to be your next of kin, in Connie's mind the simplest thing to do was to make me your wife.

At first, when Connie gave me my new papers, with my new name, _Ruth Pearce,_ I felt a strange jumble of emotions: loose ends and exhilaration at the same time. I felt worried because I didn't know what to do or what to feel, but also I felt happy because I would, at last, be with you.

It should be easy to be your wife. After all, it is all I ever wanted. I have loved you for years, and no men I have met in the last three years have been able to make me forget about you. You are the last man I have kissed; you are the last man my hands have caressed, even if it was only on your cheeks. You have haunted my days and nights for so long, and you are still my one and only love, despite the physical distance between us and the passage of time. Being your wife is a dream come true and, after years of hesitation and then years of parting, I am now ready to accept any gift Fate will grant me. I have suffered enough during the last few years to gladly accept any bit of happiness in my life. So, for me, I've made up my mind: I'm happy and proud to be your wife Harry Pearce, and I promise I will love and cherish you if you want me to.

Having said all this, and declaring my willingness to be your wife, there is still a stubborn niggling of doubt in my mind. I always thought that on the dockside, _that_ morning, you wanted to tell me that you loved me, but do you_ still_ love me? When I arrived yesterday, your daughter, Catherine, was there. Her words are engraved in my memory: "I'm glad you are here Ruth… he loves you so much". Not _loved_ but _love_.

Nevertheless, we have been playing our cat and mouse game for so long, that I don't know if you're going to be happy to wake up with me by your side and finding out you are now a married man. Will you only consider the operational and practical aspect of it, and Mrs Pearce will just be my new legend? Are you going to throw away this fake marriage and dump me as soon as you have enough strength to do it? In my dreams, I hope that you will react as I did, and see the wonderful opportunity in this situation.

&

Will I ever be myself again one day? And who am I now? I knew when I became a spy that I would have to lie to my friends and family about my work, but I didn't know that my whole life would become a huge lie; a denial of myself. "Self control, self denial" you once told me, and here I am, for the third time in the last 2 years, playing a part with no rehearsal and no clue as to the likely result.

When Ruth Evershed died, I had to grieve my own death and accept that, from then on, I was Rose Emmington. It took me some time: I felt like a fake for months. Now, just as I eventually get used to it, I have change my name again and become _another_ new person. Not entirely my old self, Ruth Evershed, and not Rose anymore: I'm now Ruth Pearce, devoted and loving wife of a man I've shared too many silences with.

At least this time I can be _Ruth. N_ot the shy Intelligence Analyst you worked with, but someone who would climb Everest, well at least the Mont Blanc, to make you wake up.

**St**** Thomas hospital, London, 18****th**** July 2008, 3pm**

I have been sitting in this chair beside your bed for two days now. It seems that my life is now enclosed in the four walls of your private Intensive Care Unit room. My line of vision ends with the door and the guard in front of it. My ears are filled with the mechanical sound of the breathing machine and the different "beeps" of both monitors and IV pump. My physical movement is limited to walking around your bed from time to time, when my back and legs are begging me to. My speech is limited to the few words I occasionally exchange with the nurses: it is now the third one of the day, as their shifts last eight hours. Early hours of this morning, it was Jennifer, then during the day, it has been Teresa, and now it is Rachel who is in charge of your surveillance. They are all very professional and kind, and I appreciate their words of reassurance telling me that you_ are_ going to wake up and I must be patient.

It was Nurse Teresa who asked me to come in to your room this morning. I was waiting for the doctors' visit to end, drinking coffee and pacing the corridor outside your room. As I entered the room, doctors, surgeons and nurses were gathered around your bed in a semi-circle, holding their files and keeping an eye on the monitors. And you, Head of Section D, respected and much feared Chief of the Counter-Terrorism Unit for the United Kingdom, mighty and ruthless Sir Harry Pearce, lay on your bed looking helpless. Strangely, as if for the first time, I suddenly saw you with open, realistic eyes: the medical assistance on all parts of your body, a respirator to breathe, an IV pump to feed and medicate you, several drains from your wounds… Until then, I had only seen that you were alive, and that the doctors said you _would_ awake up at some point. Obviously, my thoughts have been much too selfish: I have been thinking too much about us, and about the fine and blurred line between reality and the pretence of our marriage.

As the surgeon began to explain what has happened and what they have done for you, my eyes noticed the reality and sadness of the situation: you were lying on that bed defenceless, so far from the brightness of your authority on the Grid or in the corridors of Whitehall.

At some point of his speech, the surgeon lifted up the sheet to show me the dressing on your chest. Of course, officially, I am your wife, and your wife should not be blushing at the sight of you naked. Nevertheless, I was obviously not prepared to play that part. What would be the attitude of a wife in such circumstances? I have never been married, so what should I have said? We have never been intimate, so what should I have done?

I must confess that my only thoughts at that moment were to find a way to hide an inappropriate reddening, and the tears I had been holding back until that moment, were, for once, welcome.

What an ironic twist of our lives. When we were working together, our physical contact had been limited to a slight touch of our hands on a bus, my squeeze on your arm after Ros' outburst, or your hand on my shoulder after Maudsley's suicide. Now, there I was, standing near your bed, looking at your naked damaged body. Of course I'm not naïve, and I have seen other men naked before, but I have dreamed so many times of the moment when we would be intimate for the first time, and I would see you without the trademark suit and crisp cotton shirt. Looking at you, like this, so fragile and vulnerable, and with an entire medical staff around us, was too much to bear.

Nurse Teresa noticed my distress, partially covered up your nakedness, and stood by my side holding me close. After handing me some tissues, she whispered, "Don't worry Mrs Pearce, he's going to be okay, he needs only a few more days to heal and you will talk to him again."

Her words brought me back to reality, and I nodded and tried to smile. Nurse Teresa is really a very kind young woman. You are going to like her, Harry.

As my hands gently stroked your arm and forehead, in a now very common and natural move, my thoughts came back to the words of the surgeon. I have finally understood that you are in an _artificial_ coma to give your body a chance to heal, to lessen the pain and give you a better chance at recovery. All your fundamental organs are well: heart, lungs and kidneys are functioning and, God! I am speaking like an intelligence analyst right now!

After explaining your injuries and present condition, one of the doctors told me that, while you are in the coma, it is important for you to have contact with the people you love. He then explained to me how I should act with you: talking to you (that you could hear my voice) and caressing you (that you could feel my presence) and reassuring you.

"As much as you can, try to keep a physical contact with him. Your voice, your strokes on his arms, face, or legs are very important to make him feel that he has a reason to fight. We do not know exactly what's going on when a patient is in coma, but they probably do feel better knowing that someone is with them, caring about them."

Before the end of the visit the doctor added:

"One last question Mrs Pearce. Did you husband ever tell you about this scar on his upper thigh? We didn't find any mention of it in his medical record." He joined his hand to his words and showed me a fine line near your right hip.

I swallowed hard, Harry, and managed not to blush as my fingers were sliding on the light line of your scar and, for once, I felt justified in spending all those hours reading your personnel file. Without the careful attention I paid to your field reports, no one would have known that it was a souvenir from Northern Ireland, and an unfortunate meeting with a threatening knife.

At least, I feel useful now. I am here to help you, and to help the medical staff.

I am now in charge of giving you the care and comfort only a wife or a beloved can give. I hope that, when you wake up, you will not regret Connie's decision to make us married, because I have had time to think about this charade lately and, at this moment, I am really glad to be your wife.

_**Chapter 2 is already written. Would you like to read it? **__** To let me know, you can always push the "review" button… **_


	3. Chapter 3

_**This chapter is dedicated to all the nurses of the forum, you're **__**doing a fantastic job!**_

_**Many thanks to my beta reader**_

_**Disclaimer: All characters in this work of fan fiction are owned by Kudos and BBC**_

**Chapter 2**

**The Waiting**

**Your house, 18****th**** July 2008, 11:30pm**

I am so tired that I don't know how to explain what I feel at this present moment. I suppose I should try to think as the analyst I have always been…

At 7 pm this afternoon, Nurse Teresa came to talk to me. I was busy telling you about my life in Italy, convinced that you can hear my voice and feel the soft caress of my hand, as the doctor said. It was almost a pleasant and quiet moment for the two of us, when suddenly I felt a gentle pat on my shoulder. Teresa told me that she wanted to talk to me, so we left your room for a moment and walked out into the corridor. When she spoke, her tone was soft, but insistent.

"Mrs Pearce, your husband is sedated for his own safety and comfort, so he is not going to wake up until we decide to reduce his medication. You should take advantage of this situation to take a moment for yourself. You should go home, have a long hot bath, a proper dinner, and try to get a few hours of sleep. Once rested, you can come back here feeling stronger and more able to support your husband. He is going to need you more when he wakes up, and if you are too tired by then, it is going to be difficult for you both. Believe me; you should have some rest now while you have the chance."

She was right of course, and I suppose she was only trying to help, but for a second I thought that she was hiding something about your condition. She probably noticed my frown and the concern in my eyes and added:

"Your husband is reacting well to the trauma of the incident and the long hours in theatre. I think that the doctors are going to reduce the dose of sedation from tomorrow. So, if you want to get some rest, I suggest you go home now. I promise if anything happens I will let you know immediately. Okay?"

My problem at this moment was, I knew I had to do as I was told, but I couldn't suppress an uncomfortable feeling rising within me… I didn't want to leave you because I was afraid: afraid that something might happen if I left your room. But Malcolm had called me earlier to say that it would be great if I could take care of Scarlet for a little while. I think your dog was testing Malcolm's patience a little too much.

It took me another whole hour to find the courage to get out of my chair. Another few minutes for a phone call to Connie, and then a little more time to repeatedly kiss your forehead and cheek. Eventually, I felt able to leave your room, and the hospital.

To be honest, I think that I was not only afraid to leave _you_, but also to leave the hospital. The outside world and the big city had become strangers to me. As I left the building in the bright light of a summer afternoon, the sun burned my eyes, the noises of London hurt my ears, and I felt dizzy as I walked towards Westminster Bridge and took the steps to the Embankment.

As if I wasn't suffering enough, I then remembered that I had another challenge to face; I had to go to Thames House to get hold of your house keys.

As I passed by _our_ bench, my legs suddenly weakened and I felt an urgent need to sit. I stayed there for a while, my eyes on the Thames and across the water to Parliament. As I remembered our moments here together, my heartbeat started to slow and I was blissfully unaware of the tourists taking pictures, the joggers, and all the people simply enjoying a nice stroll after a day at work.

I eventually found the strength to continue my walk, and arrived at Thames House minutes later. Oh Harry, how many times since I left have I dreamed of stepping through the pods to enter the Grid? How many times have I pictured the moment when I would turn my head towards your office and see you sitting at your desk in the glowing red light reflected off your office walls? But, at 6:30pm that day, I stepped out of the pods, and you were not there. There was only one thought in my mind: I could hear your voice repeating, "I will sort this out, I _promise_, Ruth, I _will_ sort this out," and then your face as I turned back to you in the pod.

Connie must have seen my sudden sadness and took care of me. In a split second, I was sitting in a chair, with a coffee in my hand, and Jo's arm around my shoulder. Harry, you cannot imagine how good it felt to be there, surrounded by friends. Zaf and Ros were not there, and Adam told me that he will explain about that to me later because now was not the right time. I suppose they are probably on an operation, undercover somewhere. I stayed there for a while, but felt that they had so much work to do to dismantle the cell that has shot you, and I didn't want to be a bother to them. So I took the keys of your house and car and went out with a final flurry of hugging.

And here I am, hours later, in your house, in your bedroom, on your bed. Fidget, my dear Fidget, is purring on the cover lying against my leg, and Scarlet is on the carpet. I've done what Teresa told me to do: I've stopped to buy something to eat; I've had a long hot bath; and I've been looking in your chest of drawers to find some clothes to take back to the hospital for you. I am hoping you won't object, because I have also found one of your old T-shirts for me to sleep in.

At first, it felt a bit weird to be in your home without you. It almost seemed as if I was in a safe house: an unknown place, cold and uninhabited. Then Scarlet came barking and bounced all over me, and I saw Fidget stirring from your chair and coming towards me. At least I had two kind, living creatures to welcome me, so I felt less lonely.

Is it too much, too fast? Do I have the right to be in your life, in your house, driving your car? Your team has decided for you what part I should play in your life, and I have accepted it, but sometimes I still feel ill at ease to be your fake wife.

**St Thomas hospital,**** 19****th**** July, 1pm**

I eventually fell asleep and woke up at 6am this morning. In a mad rush, I quickly fed both Scarlet and Fidget, had shower, and threw on my clothes. The taxi was already there as I opened the door. Rationally, I knew that there was no need to hurry, and that if anything had happened to you whilst I was at home, Teresa or one of the other nurses would have phoned immediately. Yet, I still felt guilty: guilty for leaving you alone for so long. Of course you were not _really_ alone, not with the constant attention of Teresa. But I knew that Catherine would not stay with you all night, so you've probably been alone since midnight. As the taxi drove me through the still quiet streets towards the hospital, I couldn't stop thinking that I had left you all alone and I shouldn't have.

My feeling of guilt did not disappear as I arrived at hospital. Entering the room, I noticed that Rachel was standing by your bed. She greeted me with a warm smile. She gently took my arm and made me sit.

"I'm glad you listened to Teresa's advice. Did you sleep well?"

I nodded. I couldn't speak. Why? Because I felt guilty? Yes, probably. And because, in a selfish way, I felt relief that nothing had happened when I was not there: that you had not woken up whilst I was at your house.

As Rachel was checking your IV, she told me, in a few words, that I should not feel guilty because I went home for a few hours of sleep. She assured me that you had a very peaceful night and that I had not missed anything. For a moment, I looked at her smiling face and I asked myself if she had read my mind. Opening the door of the room, she turned to me and added, "Don't forget to eat something for your breakfast," and then she left us alone.

You should recruit her right away Harry! This woman has the power to read people's minds! She would be a very valuable asset for the service.

After the doctor's visit, she took time to explain that they had decided to reduce the dose of sedation. To wake up after a coma is not that easy, she added, but I should be confident. I should see your eye lids flutter open in the coming hours.

**St Thomas hospital,**** 19****th**** July, 11:45pm**

I have finished telling you about my entire life on exile now.

My hands have caressed your hands, your arms, and your face, over and over again for the last three days. I have kissed your cheeks and forehead repeatedly, and whispered that I love you in your ear, every now and then.

It seemed as if you slightly moved your feet when Nurse Jennifer went a moment ago. I have decided to ignore the pleas for me to get more rest. I have to stay with you tonight, to be with you, to help you to cross that river and come back from the dead.

I miss you. I miss your voice. I miss you eyes on me. Being there right beside you after having waited so long for the moment of our reunion, but still not being able to talk with you, to hear your voice… I have never felt such frustration in all my life.

Now, as I am looking at your expressionless face, the lyrics of the Sting song that played in the taxi this morning come to mind:

"I'm not a man of too many faces  
The mask I wear is one"

You _are_ a man of many faces Harry, and working with you for so many years, I have learned each one of them. Your frown when you were listening carefully to an explanation. Your smirk when some politician had made a mistake. Your angry face when you were arguing with Juliet. Your expectant face when we met in the corridor of a hotel in Havensworth. Your loving face that morning on the dockside.

Tonight the mask you are wearing scares me, because I don't know what's behind it.

**St Thomas hospital,**** 20****th**** July, 5:30am**

You moved your hand! I was sleeping in my chair, my hand holding yours, and I felt something: a slight tremor. It wasn't really a squeezing, more like a reflex, probably. But still, it's the first sign of movement. Is it too much to hope that you are actually aware I am by your side? Are you trying to tell me that you know I'm here for you?

I have called Nurse Teresa and she said that it was a very good sign.

_**Next chapter is "The awakening" What will be Harry's reaction? **_

_**Feel free to make any remarks or suggestions… The button is right there to review ;-)**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer: All characters in this work of fan fiction are owned by Kudos and BBC**_

_After the turmoil__**:**_

_Peace has to be created, in order to be maintained. It is the product of Faith, Strength, Energy, Will, Sympathy, Justice, Imagination, and the triumph of principle. It will never be achieved by passivity and quietism. (Dorothy Thompson)_

_We shall find peace. We shall hear angels. We shall see the sky sparkling with diamonds.__ (Anton Chekov)_

_**For Terry/Sylvester**_

**Chapter 3**

**The Awakening**

**Your house, 21****st**** July 2008, 8am**

They are going to move you to a new room this morning, so I was asked to stay at home and not go back to the hospital before 10am. It is such a relief to know that your condition is improving and that you are going to be in a standard room (private room though, still with a guard in front of your door).

Of course my reason for needing to stay away is good, but the trouble is I now have plenty of time and nothing much to do with it. I was up at six, had a shower, ate my breakfast, and have taken Scarlet for a walk. I also bought a few things to eat at the supermarket and did some cleaning. Yet, despite all this busyness, I still have one more hour to wait before I need to start my walk back to the hospital. It is going to be a long journey by foot, but I don't care. I don't want to wait here for even longer, and then make my way on the Tube. I want to be outside, enjoying the sunshine, reacquainting myself with the busy London streets.

So, before I go, I feel I need to write about yesterday's events so I can keep a record of what happened that day. The date of 20th July 2008 will always be burned in my memory. At seven in the morning, you woke up. I was dozing in the chair, incapable of sleeping after that slight move in your hand a few hours before, and then, it happened.

There was a moment of swarming activity around your bed with nurses and doctors pushing me aside as they rushed to help you. I had to wait ten minutes to be near your bed again, ten whole torturous minutes before I could look at you. When I finally edged to the front of the crowd, what I saw in your eyes tore my heart apart. It was a blend of confusion, fear, incomprehension, expectation… I had never seen you that lost. You began to struggle with your breathing system, rolling your head from one side of the pillow to the other, probably trying to escape from a horrible sensation of suffocation.

Thankfully, it didn't last long. Within minutes, Nurse Teresa came back in your room smiling, and freed you from the breathing tube. After the coughing and retching died down, slowly, shyly, I saw the ghost of a smile on your face.

The first thing you said...well, not really said, because your vocal cords were too irritated to speak...the first word you _mouthed_ was "Ruth" as you stared at me with tenderness. I have seen that look before, in another life, in a restaurant a long long time ago. Finally, once satisfied that I really was there with you, you gave in to the urge to sleep. I stayed by your side, my hand stroking your face in a now familiar way. Did you felt my tears falling on your chest?

I knew that I had something important and urgent to tell you, but the next time you opened your eyes and turned your head looking for me, I wanted nothing more than to hold you in my arms. Nurse Jennifer was at your side, checking your blood pressure and giving you some medication through the IV.

"You're probably feeling dizzy and queasy Mr Pearce but it is a normal thing, nothing to worry about," she said, as she finished what she was doing. "It's your body reacting to the sedation. I have just given you an anti-emetic, so the nausea should ease in a few minutes. I will leave you and your wife alone for a little while. I'm sure you have some catching up to do."

As she turned to leave, she looked at me and smiled. "If you need anything Mrs Pearce I'm in the room next door, okay?"

I nodded to her and then briefly caught a flicker of confusion in your eyes. Thankfully, speaking was still too tiring and painful for you and you stayed quiet. As soon as she left the room, I sat on your bed holding your hands. We stayed there for what seemed like hours, just lost in each other eyes. Neither of us spoke. It was as if, somehow, we were both afraid that the spell we were under would break if we did. Eventually, your eyelids fluttered softly and then closed. I told you not to resist the urge to sleep, and I sat back in my chair, waiting for the next moment you would wake up... waiting for the inevitable explanation to come.

You slept for the rest of the morning, and it was only at noon that I saw your eyes again. You seemed more awake that time, and now it was _you _who took hold of _my _hands. You asked for water, so I helped you to drink. You patted the edge of the bed, inviting me to sit there, and then whispered, "Ruth, tell me…"

You didn't have to say more... I knew what the question referred too. So, as the moment I dreaded was finally here, with an unsteady voice I began to explain how I came back, and what Connie had done for me. My anxiety took over and I felt incapable of looking at you; terrified by the idea that maybe I had been too optimistic concerning your feelings for me.

Then, I heard your voice: still broken, but so soft.

"Ruth, look at me. What are you afraid of? Of course I'm glad that Connie has cleared your name."

I couldn't speak.

"So what is the problem then?" you asked, looking a little puzzled by my nervousness.

Then I raised my head for a brief moment, and saw the realisation dawn on your features and a beautiful smile suddenly light your face.

"Are you afraid that I will consider this marriage only as a legend, and now that I'm awake, I might throw it away?"

I was still incapable of meeting your gaze. I knew in my heart that playing the role of your wife for the last four days had been one of the most wonderful parts of my life, despite the circumstances that caused it. While playing the part, I was more _myself_ than I had ever been. I wanted so much to be your wife for real. The moment of truth was there...the moment when my future, my sanity, and life were in your hands. I simply nodded my answer to your question, and waited, fearful of the next words to leave your mouth.

With my head still bowed, you raised your hand to cup my face and spoke slowly and tenderly.

"We have never done things the right way, have we? We've always been a step too late. We have been in love for _so long_ and never wanted to admit it because we are both too stubborn for that. Our first kiss...our last kiss... was such a long time ago now, and for the longest time I wanted to tell you something wonderful...something you didn't let me say. But things have changed Ruth..."

I scrunched my eyes closed at those words... _things have changed_...Why have they changed? Distance and time apart from each other have not diluted _my_ love for _you. _Sensing my increased anxiety, you brushed your thumb tenderly under my eye, catching the hot tears that had started to fall. When you continued speaking, your voice had a new edge to it...more determined, perhaps.

"After the shooting, when I was lying on the tarmac, my last conscious thought was of you. I have been too close to death to let regrets invade me again; the regrets of things I haven't done, of words I haven't spoken. So from now on, I will act upon my wishes. I will _not_ stay quiet and I will _not _let you go again. I don't want to waste any more time, Ruth. Being married to you is all I've ever dreamed of, so I will not let this opportunity, to have you permanently in my life, pass me by."

Then, as you lifted my face up to meet your gaze, despite the weakness and the tiredness I could read in your eyes, your hand was strong as you pulled my head towards yours and whispered to my mouth.

"You are my reason for being Ruth."

My voice was unsteady as I spoke the words I have said each night while in exile, hoping they would reach you at the other side of Europe; the words I have never said with so much conviction to any other man before.

"I love you too, Harry."

Your words, your sleepy but loving eyes, and your tender smile, eliminated every doubt that had been tormenting me in the previous days, and I finally closed the distance between us.

After years of a hesitating relationship, after months of painful parting, after days of fear and worry, we are finally together. Not yet totally free to live our love, but at last we are side by side.

**Ward C, Room 4, 21****st**** July 2008, 5pm**

I don't know why I keep on writing. After all, you are awake, and you know as well as I do what has happened today, but I just can't stop. After months of confidences written in this book, I feel the need to lie down on these white pages the excess of emotions of these very special days.

I arrived at 10am this morning and found you in your new room, waiting for me (Nurse Rachel told me) and smiling. I didn't see you much this morning though, because you were wheeled around the hospital to have lots of examinations, including another scan.

At 3pm, after your nap, finally we were alone, just the two of us talking, with so much of each other's lives to catch up on. It was a peculiar situation. I don't know why it surprised me that we both very quickly recaptured the rhythm of our conversations, just as it was years ago back on the Grid. The closeness we shared has never left us and our conversation was quite easy and light-hearted, despite us both knowing that things will never be the same as before.

Saying, "I love you," when you are thirty-eight is not the same as when you're seventeen… especially to the man you have sacrificed your life for. It is not the false hope of the Charming Prince. It's not a sudden and feckless infatuation provoked by a hormonal need. Our love is a mature one; a love that even time and distance has not stopped. Such a love is something to cherish, to protect, something that I know will happen only once in my life. It is so big that I think we are both a bit terrified because it is so much bigger than we are. This is why we were acting like two shy teenagers this afternoon, speaking and laughing, as our fingers intertwined themselves at their own will.

After an hour or so, you asked me to sit closer to you, on the edge of your bed. My fingertips seemed to naturally find their way to your face and drew the lines of your cheeks and jaw. The feeling of your hand first on my arm and shoulder, then delicately caressing my back, made me forget about anything else. As I looked into your eyes and leant slowly forwards towards your lips, trying not to lean my weight on your chest, I thought for a split second, as our lips met, that after years of reading and watching films about it, I was at last experiencing first hand what real passion is.

A few moments later, as we were both still lost in our passionate kiss, we didn't hear the door sliding open, nor did we see three spooks walking silently towards your bed.

Adam, Connie and Malcolm were impatient to see you because they hadn't been allowed to visit you in your Intensive Care room. Suddenly, Connie's voice drew us back to reality.

"Oh well...back in action Harry, so to speak! And I'm glad to see, Ruth, that you're taking advantage of the perks of your new legend!"

I have never been the kind of woman who likes public demonstrations of affection and I have certainly never wanted to be talked about, but it was too late for that kind of consideration. I sat up straight and felt the blushing in my cheeks as your hands, still holding my waist, pulled me closer to you. As they all spoke, with huge grins on their faces, I couldn't help the broad smile that spread on my own face as I watched the Section D team, the finest protectors of our country, looking like a bunch of students going home having finished their exams.

As you were not supposed to have four people in your room at the same time for too long, Connie and Malcolm left after a short while, but Adam, after a stray look from you, stayed with us. I guessed straight away that you wanted to know what had happened, and who had shot you, but I didn't know what to do. Should I stay or should I go? For the medical staff, I am Mrs Pearce, your devoted and caring wife, but for the team, who am I? The one they needed to wake you up? An ex trustworthy member of your staff? I am supposed to be your wife, but Adam knows it is a legend. My name has been cleared, but I am not a MI5 agent anymore, so what is my place here? What am I allowed to hear? I, or rather Ruth Pearce, has not signed the OSA yet. So as Adam started to explain the situation to you, I chose to leave you both alone. As I started to move off your bed, your hand on my arm told me that I should stay.

"Don't be silly Ruth. Stay here. I need, _we_ need, your help on this."

So, Adam told us what they know, or rather what they don't know yet, and what their unanswered questions are. From the information they have gathered since the shooting, it looks like it was a personal vendetta against you rather than a terrorist attack against a member of the British establishment. They are trying to identify, among your many enemies, who could be the one who pulled the trigger. As you and Adam talked, you mentioned lots of people that I have never heard of: "Red backs" and "Davy King" to name a few. As I sat silently and listened, a sudden wave of sadness came over me as the reality of not being a part of your world hit me. I didn't realise until that moment how much I have missed being on the inside of the spooky world.

After a few minutes of chatting, you told Adam that you were tired. He then turned to me and, as if he had somehow sensed my feelings and thoughts, his next words floored me.

"We really need your expertise on this Ruth. You have always been the best at seeing things where everyone else is blind. Do you mind if Malcolm provides you with a laptop and a memory stick with all of our current intelligence? We need fresh eyes and a clever mind on this."

I don't know if he realised how shocked and thrilled I was. Adam, with your acceptance, Harry, was breaking every MI5 rule of secrecy by offering me that information and asking for my help. But I was too happy to say no. The team has brought me back to you, and to my country, so the least I can do is offer some pay back for that.

Since I left, two years ago, I have always known that my place in this world is uncertain. I always thought that only when, and if, I could came back home, I would find my real place again. And now here I am: "married" to a man I have loved for five years, yet I've not even made love with him (I should probably get an entry in the Guinness Book of Records for that) and I'm one foot outside the pod, one foot on the Grid… my equilibrium still very fragile. It is a rather ironic situation, really. I have always loved to have certitudes and now, as I am finally happy, my entire life is based on uncertainty.

_**Many, many thanks to my beta reader**_


End file.
